


Injured

by blerdxlines



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Accidents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear of Death, Head Injury, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Prosthesis, Secrets, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blerdxlines/pseuds/blerdxlines
Summary: After an accident, Jet learns that his arm is weakening and needs to be replaced before it causes him severe damage. He ignores this, foregoing doctor's orders, and in the end he learns the hard way, there is no cure for a bruised ego.
Relationships: Jet Black/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Injured

Spike groaned, straining his back as he dragged a large piece of Swordfish II's outer shell across the floor.

"What're you doin' with your ship?" Jet replied. "Just thought I'd deep clean this little piece before taking Swordfish II out for a spin. Easier getting iff than it is getting it on." He turned to the larger man, a cheerful smile on his face. "Think you could lend me a hand?"

Jet shrugged, "Sure, I don't see why not."

Both men grabbed either side of the rounded metal plate, lifting it about chest height before maneuvering to the ship. "You got it on that end, Spike?"

"Yeah--" He hissed. "Now just turn a bit so we can drop it into place." "Sure thing." Spike groaned, struggling with the weight, and Jet took notice, lifting the slab just above his head, his left arm doing most of the heavy lifting.

"Thanks." Spike chuckled, breathlessly. "You got it?" "Mhm." Jet replied, angling the piece into position when suddenly he felt something, a sudden blast of pain in his left arm like he'd been hit. He quickly lost balance, the metal slipping from his hands before everything turned black.

* * *

There was a quiet knock at the door.

"Come in."

In walked a well-dressed man, a stethoscope around his neck, a white lab coat, the whole nine yards. "Mr. Black." He approached, reaching out his left hand for a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

Jet shook. "Nice to meet you too, doc."

"I know you've had a few guests stop by, will they be returning sometime soon?"

"Nah, I sent 'em home. No use in watching me lay around all day." The doctor chuckled a bit. "How are you feeling right now? Is your head feeling better?"

He sighed, giving the doctor an irritated look. "Don't bore me with the pleasantries, doc. I can tell something's wrong. Just give me the bad news, I can handle it."

The doctor nodded quietly, glancing over his clipboard.

"We ran an X-ray of your synthetic limb." He handed Jet a clipboard with an annotated photograph of his left arm and torso.

"Unfortunately. We identified some complications with your prosthetic. Your body is beginning to reject the arm."

Jet thought over the words but he couldn't make sense of what they meant. He felt fine. It was just a random accident.

"What the hell do you mean?"

"We've begun to see a trend with synthetic limbs of the model, where, over time--around 15 years--they begin to detach from the nervous system."

Jet blinked down at his arm, turning over his palm noticing a slight tremble in his fingers.

"The symptoms start out minor. Tingling, soreness, maybe even a twinge of pain in your limb. But depending on the age of your prosthesis it can range anywhere from mild to severe."

Jet blinked between him and his fingers. They wouldn't stop trembling, his right hand, however, sat perfectly still.

"Numbness, trembling, decline in fine motor skills, spasmodic behavior. Any of those side effects sound familiar?"

Jet lowered his head and clenched his fists shut, a heat washing over his face. "How much time does it have left?"

The doctor hesitated. "We recommend you get it replaced as soon as possible before it causes any permane--" Jet slammed his fist into the examination table, leaving a dent in the metal surface. The doctor flinched, stepping away from him. " _I said: **how long**._"

He swallowed before replying, "4 months. But anything more than that would be dangerous."

* * *

"Sir-- Mr. Black! Where are you going?!"

Jet zipped his suit up to his neck as he made his way out the front doors. "What's it look like? I'm heading home."

"But we haven't finished treating your head wou--" "I'm refusing care."

The doctor stopped halfway to Jet's ship, watching as he hopped in, shielding his eyes as the ship kicked up debris from the ground and took off.

* * *

_3 AM Mars time on the Bebop._

You awoke to find your bedroom door halfway open.

"Mmmclose the door and come back to bed, baby." You groaned. It wasn't until a moment of silence that you finally recognized the sound of labored breathing outside your room.

" _Jet?_ " You shot up out of bed now, rushing into the hall where Jet sat, leaned against the wall, huffing as he gripped his arm to his side.

" ** _Jet!_** " You gasped, rushing to his side. "Jet, what's wrong?" He didn't respond, all he could do was breath through the intense pain coursing through his limb right now. " _ **Spike, Faye!**_ " You shouted, and before you knew it both of them were out their rooms, guns blazing as they joined your side. Spike kneeled in front of Jet, whose arm laid motionless. Every spasm; every tremble caused him to hiss in pain.

"Jet, what the hell happened?" Spike muttered in shock.

"P-played a dangerous g-game." He managed a pained laugh.

* * *

Jet's head ached something fierce, his eyelids felt heavy and his nostrils burned as he breathed. Voices filled the room as he blinked his eyes open.

"He's waking up." Someone spoke.

He glanced around the room, correcting his vision enough to make out you, Spike, and Faye standing around his bed.

"Jet." Faye started. "Can you talk?"

"What's up with you guys?" Jet chuckled dryly.

You gripped what looked to be a well-used tissue in your trembling hands. The amount of shame Jet felt was crushing. All the wanted to do was hold your hands, hug you close, and tell you he was sorry.

"I'm fine, okay? Don't look so sad. You look all like you've seen a--" He willed his arm to move, only finding there was nothing. When he looked down there was nothing there.

A feeling of powerlessness and anger washed over his body.

"Damn it." He growled. " _You're damn right._ " Spike started. "Do you know how bad of shape you were in? The heavy metal poisoning from that arm could've killed you, you fucking idiot."

"A few days longer and they would've been peeling a damn prosthetic off your dead body--" " _Spike,_ that's enough." Faye interrupted. "He just woke up. Give him some time."

"I'm outta here." Spike muttered as he stormed out the room. Faye offered you a somber look before following him out.

You both sat in silence for a bit, the sound occupied by the ventilator hooked up every which where.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You finally asked.

He moved his lips only to find his mouth was unsatisfyingly dry. He turned his head to the left, to the bottle of water just beside you. Without a word, you grabbed it, opening the lid and raising it to his lips. He struggled, attempting to raise his right arm to grab it from you, but you quickly pressed his arm down.

"Drink."

He sipped shortly from the bottle, the somber look on your face was too much to bear. "I found out," He answered. "Before I met you." That wasn't a good enough excuse. He continued, "I didn't wanna believe it. That anything was wrong. Thought that I could hide it. Avoid it."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"Because of this." He started. "This is why. Another hospital room, another surgery, another somber face." His voice trailed off. "Months of physical therapy, rehab, quiet nights, pain pills... all this, for an arm I didn't even want."

'This time it's different Jet. Because you're not alone. Spike, Faye, me, we'll be there for you."

Jet felt tears sting his eyes. How long has it been since he's felt that? He was feeling a lot for the first time in a while.

"All the advice I give Spike." He chuckled. "And here I am running away from my problems."

You joined him on his right, grabbing his hand and he gently squeezed back.

"Just promise me." You smiled. "When you're fully healed, you'll let me smack you for lying, okay?"

"Promise." He replied, closing his eyes as you leaned in to kiss his forehead.


End file.
